


Walking Arm in Arm

by thesaddestboner



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: Detroit Tigers, Family, Gen, Non-Famous Family Members As Characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-24
Updated: 2010-06-24
Packaged: 2017-10-14 03:00:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/144613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesaddestboner/pseuds/thesaddestboner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Rosangel is still officially “not speaking to him” when the date of the first ultrasound rolls around.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Walking Arm in Arm

**Author's Note:**

> Miguel's daughter is also named Rosangel, but extensive googling tells me they refer to her as Brisel.
> 
> Title from “On the Radio,” by Regina Spektor. 
> 
> Written for the **pregnancy - first ultrasound** [](http://schmoop_bingo.livejournal.com/profile)[**schmoop_bingo**](http://schmoop_bingo.livejournal.com/) square. 
> 
> Italics means Spanish is being spoken.
> 
> You can find me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/thesaddestboner) and [tumblr](http://saddestboner.tumblr.com).

Rosangel is still officially “not speaking to him” when the date of the first ultrasound rolls around. They’d talked about it briefly, in the whirlwind that was the end of the season; he promised her he’d take her for the first ultrasound and she’d brushed those promises off dismissively, the way one might brush away a mosquito. He didn’t blame her then and he still doesn’t.

The priest and his counselors say it will take time to earn forgiveness, but he’s always been slightly rash and impatient. He misses waking up beside his wife and lazing in bed with her, listening to their daughter chatter to her imaginary friends in the other room. He just misses _them_.

He hadn’t realized all the little things he’d miss until after Rosangel threw him out of the house. Now, he wishes he’d taken the time to sift through and catalogue them. Will he forget what his little girl’s hair smells like the longer he’s away from her? Will he forget the curve of Rosangel’s hip, the flutter of her eyelashes? The way her breath smells first thing in the morning? He doesn’t want to find out.

Miguel shows up at the place Rosangel and his daughter are staying, a small menagerie of stuffed animals for Brisel tucked into the crook of one arm and the weight of a small velvet jewelry box in his pants pocket bumping against his thigh.

Rosangel is standing on the porch, their little girl’s hand clasped in her own. He stops on the sidewalk in front of the house, unsure if he should join them or stay right where he stands. He waggles a stuffed teddy bear at Brisel and her dark eyes flicker briefly, but she doesn’t smile at him as she used to.

“ _I thought maybe you’d forget,_ ” Rosangel says, her voice neither unkind nor welcoming. She bows her head and tugs gently on Brisel’s hand. Miguel smiles at his daughter and drops his gifts to open his arms for her. Brisel looks up at her mother, as if seeking her approval and Miguel’s stomach sinks like a rock. A thousand thoughts float through his mind - _what if my little girl doesn’t remember me what if she’s afraid of me what if she hates me what if what if_ \- before Rosangel’s gentle voice cuts through the fog of panic threatening to tighten its embrace around him.

“ _It’s okay._ ” Rosangel gives their daughter an encouraging nudge toward Miguel. “ _Daddy missed you, Brisel._ ”

Brisel looks at him and chews on her bottom lip briefly before skipping down the porch steps to the sidewalk, where Miguel is waiting for her, and throws herself into his broad chest. She wraps her skinny little arms around him as best she can and she buries her cheek against his chest. Miguel enfolds his little girl in his arms and presses his nose into her hair.

His little girl smells like orchids, like home. Miguel takes a deep breath. He will not let himself forget this, he will not let this slip away.

When Brisel finally pulls away to examine her assortment of gifts, Miguel takes her gently by the hand and leads her back to the porch where Rosangel is waiting.

“ _I brought you a gift too_ ,” he says, hesitantly, reaching into his pocket and producing the jewelry box. He holds it out to her; he can see his hand trembling slightly. It’s like it isn’t even a part of him, a phantom limb. “ _It’s just a ring, a token, but I thought - I don’t know. You don’t have to keep it if you don’t want to. You can sell it, or I can take it back. I didn’t know -_ ”

Rosangel takes the box from him and flicks it open. “ _It’s beautiful, Miguel._ ” She looks back at him. “ _You didn’t have to._ ”

“ _I know. I wanted to_.” He glances down at his daughter and raffles his fingers through her dark curls.

Rosangel closes the jewelry box and Miguel wonders what this means. _Does she like it? Does she hate it? Will she take it back, will she_ \- Rosangel leans forward and brushes her lips against his cheek, near the corner of his mouth, almost a kiss but not quite.

“ _It’s lovely. Thank you_.” She slips the box into her pocket and wraps her hand around his. Her wedding ring presses cool and familiar against his hand, and it comforts him to know she didn’t take it off. “ _Would you like to meet your baby now? We’re going to be late._ ”

Miguel looks at her with what he is sure is a mixture of relief and wonder. He can feel a smile forming on his face. “ _Of course I do_.”

Rosangel pulls the car keys out of her purse and slips the strap up her shoulder. She holds them out to Miguel and he furrows his brow at her. He hadn’t driven that car in months - not since he made the fateful decision that nearly cost him his family and career. “ _It_ is _your car, after all_ ,” she says when she notices the look on his face.

Miguel takes the keys from her and wraps his free hand around Brisel’s small one. His wife takes Brisel’s other hand in her own and they walk to the car, a whole family again if only for this one day.

His wife picks up Brisel and tucks her into her car seat. His little girl is clutching the stuffed animals he brought her against her chest. Rosangel looks up, catching him watching, and she offers him a small, warm smile before buckling Brisel in.

All of this, it’s a start, just a small step, but he has a good feeling about it. Miguel hums to himself as he pulls the keys back out of his pocket, opens the car door, and slips back behind the wheel.

**Author's Note:**

> The author of this piece intends no insult, slander, or copyright infringement, and is not profiting from this work. This story is a complete work of fiction and does not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. This is for entertainment purposes only. If you found this story while Googling your name or the names of your friends, hit the back button now.


End file.
